


Art of War

by datprettyboi



Series: remember when i was into voltron lmao [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Artist Keith (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Homesick Lance (Voltron), Insomnia, Klance Week 2017: Scars, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Only mentioned though, mentions of hunk pidge and shiro, mentions of serious character injury, mlm author, nothing graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datprettyboi/pseuds/datprettyboi
Summary: Keith and Lance develop a way to spend the nights where they don't sleepIt was innocent at first; Keith had picked up the marker from where it rested, fiddling with it, like he was wont to do with all his restless energy. And next thing Lance knew, he was pressing the felt tip to his skin, outing lining the small marks littering his hand.





	Art of War

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something for day three! Hopefully I can keep this up :p

Keith’s eyebrows are furrowed, lips parted in concentration as he slides the marker over Lance’s skin. Lance follows its trail as Keith connects each of the scars on his skin. It’s a thing they do, when they need a distraction, when fighting in an intergalactic war gets too much. 

It’s like connect the dots, but better. The aim is to make a drawing out of the scars, leaving a picture of black, white and pink line work. This one is only black and white though. The scars on his arm where Keith is currently drawing are old and faded. The memories of that battle still haunt Lance though, not that he says anything. He knows they all have specific fights that left them scarred in more ways than one.

He tries to focus on Keith’s art but it’s kinda hard to distinguish when he first starts out. The feeling of the marker gliding over his skin is enough to entertain him though. It’s soothing; that’s why they started this. 

It began soon after they started hanging out more. When Lance accepted his insomnia was probably never going to give up and later on figuring that watching Keith train was much better than staring at the stars and wistfully thinking at home. At least, this way he would be able to pick up some fighting tips. And get to look at Keith, which sounds weird, but Keith was nice to look at. Not that he would tell him.

Sometimes Lance would bring his journal with him to the training room. It was one of the few things that keeps his sane out in space, filling it with day-to-day accounts and letters to his family he wishes he could send. He’ll show them when they get home. 

One night the thoughts got too much, the whisperings of, “What if you never get to go back?” and, “What if you die before you get the chance?”, causing him to leave the notebook shut on his legs, marker resting beside him, where his hand had absently let go of it. Keith joined him, sitting against the wall. He did this sometimes. They didn’t always talk, but they did more lately. Space was so empty that sometimes you had to remind yourself you weren’t alone in it.

That’s when it first happened. It was innocent at first; Keith had picked up the marker from where it rested, fiddling with it, like he was wont to do with all his restless energy. And next thing Lance knew, he was pressing the felt tip to his skin, outing lining the small marks littering his hand. 

He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like he really minded. It was intriguing to watch the flickers of concentration flicker across Keith’s face; study the myriad of facial expressions he showed when unguarded - something that was happening a lot more around Lance recently.

The picture was simple that time, a basic rendition of their bayards in their standard shape. It was amazingly accurate for the small space. Lance learnt a few sessions in that Keith had been drawing for years; one of his only hobbies outside training. He hadn’t drawn much since he got to space though. 

He did more often now though, and always with Lance as his canvas. He mainly drew things related to their time out in space. Lance still remembers the time he drew Blue on his back, amazingly getting every detail right. Lance still wonders if he has photographic memory but is yet to ask. That was one of his favourites. He’d drawn it a night after a particularly draining battle, both physically and emotionally. Hunk was still in a cyropod at the time, and Pidge narrowly avoided having to be put in one herself. And Shiro, well, his PTSD hadn’t been particularly kind that night.

So they had sat in the training room, like was their system, while Keith traced the marks on Lance’s back while he rambled away about all things irrelevant, if only to alleviate the worry of his best friend in a pod and the wellbeing of the rest of the team. 

When he was done, Keith took a picture on the camera Hunk had built. They’d taken habit of photographing every piece. When Lance saw this one though he was ever so grateful that he did, and ever so desperate that he would pull through. That plus the beauty of the art on his back brought him to tears. Keith had wrapped a warm arm around him, let Lance’s head fall on his shoulder while the tears fell, resting his on top of his. Secretly, Lance wishes he would do it again when he’s not so distraught, so he can truly appreciate the moment.

Lance fiddles with Keith’s jacket that lays in his lap, discarded a while back mid-training session. He can see the piece starting to take form and something pulls in his chest. It’s his galra blade in its full form. Keith showed him one night. The act was touching; only Shiro had seen it, and only because he was there when they visited the Blade of Marmora. It was one of those things, their things, that happened during their nights when they partook in each other’s presences before retiring to one of the smaller, hidden common rooms to sleep. Apparently it was easier to fall unconscious if you weren’t alone. 

Lance feels a smile tug at his lips and somehow Keith notices despite his intense concentration.  
“What?” He questions, almost defensively. Lance has learnt that’s just a Keith thing and not to be taken personally. That understood, they argue a lot less now.

“Nothing,” he responds in a soft tone. “I like it.” When he lifts his gaze to look at Keith his expression is soft, almost bashful, a slight pinkness to his cheeks. Its endearing and Lance is helpless to his grin growing that bit wider. 

Keith ducks his head down quickly, hiding behind his bangs. “You’re welcome,” he says in what Lance knows to be his embarrassed tone. It’s something rarely heard by most, but Lance has realised makes quick appearances when Keith is complimented.

Lance lets his head rest back against the wall. “Don’t forget to take a photo.” The camera lays of to the side, and Keith has never once forgotten to use it, but who would Lance be if he didn’t tease Keith, even gently like he was now?  
Keith’s eyes flick up, and he flips his bangs out of the way. “Of course not,” he replies, face matching the teasing lilt to Lance’s lips. And for that second in time, Lance feels okay.


End file.
